Mommy Issues

In honor of Mother's Day, I'm giving a shoutout to all the guys I have ever known who never successfully untied themselves from their mothers' apron strings.

I have a general rule: if a guy talks to me about his mom within the first hour of meeting me, I'm outta there.

Why?

Oh, because nothing scares me more than a guy who has mommy issues.

These guys are all over the place, blending in with all the other normal folk, pretending that their mothers don't still run their lives.

They're the ones that are usually the firstborn or the only son in a family, and therefore their mothers coddle them from birth and never really stop. Therefore, no girl they bring home is ever good enough, and they never get over being their mother's son.

I was once in a car with a boyfriend at the time, and his mother actually asked him if his bowel movements were regular, because she was worried he wasn't getting enough fiber in his diet. Even more worrisome was the fact that he answered her like it was a normal conversation topic. Yes, mom, I've been pooping on schedule.

She also still did all his laundry, despite the fact that he was in his mid-twenties. She would wash his underwear and fold it into perfect little squares. He had no idea how to do his own laundry; he once looked at my fabric softener like it was an magical.

In college, I dated a guy who was so incapable of feeding himself that his mother had to make him meals for a week, and put them in his freezer, so that he would only have to pop them in a microwave to have a full, nutritious meal.

Terrifying, I know.

I've known a handful of other guys, Dry Cleaner Guy included, who told me upfront that their moms tell them how special and smart they are. I don't even want to drag poor old Oedipus into this, but the psychological ramifications seem to be that these guys are overly arrogant and simultaneously needy.

Which is one of the reasons that as soon as my friend P started talking about his mother's menopause, R and I knew that she was in for trouble. And why I'm pretty terrified of guys that still live at home with their parents.

I have nothing against people who are close to their families. I am the first one to admit that my father still sees me as a four year-old and spoils me rotten. He called me a week ago to remind me to wash my hands before I eat because of the swine flu outbreak. Because normally, I'm so dirty and unsanitary that I don't wash my hands before I eat. Thanks Dad. Appreciate that.

And no, I don't find this hypocritical, because my father is the second person to point out my faults (my mother would be the first), so I have no problem letting him get away with playing the overprotective father role once in a while.

Plus, I've been doing my own laundry for over ten years now, so go me.

Now, if I could only remember to wash my hands before I eat...

True Romance

There was a time when my definition of romance was flowers and over-the-top gestures. I literally demanded jewelry and chocolate from boyfriends on every significant occasion, from anniversaries to Valentine's Day to my half birthday.

And let me just say it upfront, guys love it when you request that they shower you with gifts. They like it even more when you withhold sex until said gifts are given.

So basically I was every guy's worst nightmare and could have been seen as, oh I don't know, a manipulative gold-digging bitch.

I don't know if it's being older, actual maturity, lowered expectations, that being a material girl living in a material world has gone out of style, or just not being able to get away with acting like a spoiled brat anymore, but my idea of romance these days is completely different.

It's also possibly because I finally came to the realization that flowers die, chocolate gets eaten, and jewelry gets pawned post-breakup.

(But the cocktails I bought with the money I made from selling the jewelry? Priceless.)

The things I actually kept are the ones that really matter. The note that said, “I fixed your heater so you wouldn’t be cold all weekend." The stuffed animal that he drove twenty miles out of his way to surprise me with. That time he gave me his favorite t-shirt because he knew I liked to sleep in it.

Nowadays, all I require to be swept off my feet is a small act of consideration that shows you care and were thinking about me. I think we've been so conditioned to think that romance requires showering a girl in dozens of roses, or closing down Tiffany's for the night and telling Reese Witherspoon to pick a ring, that the tiny things are overshadowed and underappreciated.

One of my friends recently told me that she makes a list of demands from a guy when he wants to prove himself to her, which consists of fancy dinners and presents she wants. And most of these guys actually comply with these stringent demands.

And I remember thinking to myself that even though that is awesome and I give her mad props, that my list would consist of things like always being honest to me, giving me your jacket when I'm cold, buying my favorite snacks at the movie theater, being respectful and kind to my friends and family, etc, etc.

They're not quite as glamorous as dinners at Per Se or a Gucci handbag, but hey, that's just how I roll.

That's not too much to ask, is it?

Let's Be Friends

So as I've previously stated on multiple occasions, I am really bad at being friends with my ex-boyfriends.

First of all, a giant percentage of them are assholes and/or douchebags (shocker, I know), which means we had ugly breakups, which aren't very conducive to any sort of communication or friendship afterwards.

Secondly, I keep a pretty tight circle around me of people that I trust and enjoy spending time with, so I usually write off anyone that I used to date. Obviously, if you couldn't keep me as a girlfriend I see little reason to keep you as a friend.

On the few occasions that I have been able to be friends with an ex, it usually took many years for us to get past any weirdness and just be pals.

But I am now wondering about this policy because I saw an ex this past weekend that I still care for deeply, and it was a relief that we could be together again without awkwardness (for the most part), and fall back into the rhythm we had before we started dating.

And it was really nice to know that I can still keep him in my life, that he's still there for me. After all, he was a major part of my life for a period of time, he knows me better than a lot of people out there, he gets me, and he accepts me for who I am. I've found that people like that, outside of relatives who have no choice but to love you, are few and far between.

But on the other hand, things aren't quite the same as they were between us when we were friends before our relationship. Back then, I would talk to him about the guys I was dating and ask him for guy advice. And we had no problem joking to each other about every topic under the sun, including inappropriate ones like sex.

Now, there could not be a topic more off-limits than sex and other people. Even seemingly innocuous jokes told by third-party friends made me blush with embarrassment. Which is entirely out of character for me. Totes bizarre.

Worse, whenever I found myself about to tell him a funny story about something that happened, but I realized I was about to talk about someone I had dated since him, I found myself stumbling over my words as if I had something to hide.

From the people I know who do manage to remain friends with their exes, the key is being able to talk about these things and be honest with one another. But for some reason, I can't wrap my head around this. I worry that it's too hurtful and uncomfortable, but maybe in this case it's just too soon.

Or perhaps, it's because given the circumstances under which we ended our relationship, it's not entirely out of the question that someday we get back together. And if this were to happen, I'm sure he wouldn't want to know about my escapades during the time we were apart.

Nor would it be very fair not to disclose to him important details about what I've been up to. Which leaves me in a bit of a quandary, but I'll worry about that when the time comes; there's little point in stressing about it now.

In the meantime, I am collecting tips from people who have managed to maintain positive, healthy friendships with their exes after a breakup. Because I have a newfound respect for those who manage to pull that off. Props!

Jaded

Just like every other single (and non-single) girl in the free world, my Sunday nights used to revolve around Sex and the City. I used to idolize the ladies, and when I moved here, emulated them in every way that I could.

It took me a while to separate the reality of living in Manhattan from what I had envisioned, but I eventually found my own way to be, and learned to just enjoy the show for what it is: a fantasy of what life would be like if there were endless amounts of shoes, bags, food, cocktails, and men.

But the one thing I now find most enviable is not the free-flow of Cosmopolitans and beautiful designer clothing, but that they managed to maintain their sanity and hope after living in this city for many, many years.

Now, let me say, I love this city more than anything. I have loved (almost) every minute of living here. There is always something to do, always a new spot to discover, always someone new to meet.

Lately, however, I haven't been able to escape the feeling that with every passing day, I am getting more jaded and cynical. With every jackass that enters and disappears from my life, I find myself growing more distrustful of people, men especially.

This disturbs me because some of my favorite people are the ones that are the most open, most trusting, most soft. And I am turning into the opposite of that. I am growing harder, more cautious, less hopeful as time goes on.

So if I were to stay here another ten years, I can only imagine what I would become: a reptilian shell of someone who mistrusts everyone she comes across.

I'm not quite sure how to counter this transformation, other than to surround myself with positive people and emulate them, instead of fictional characters from SATC. And surrounding myself with people I do trust and care about can only be beneficial, right?

I still can't help but wonder how long a single girl can survive in this city, plow through the assholes here, and still maintain a semblance of optimism.

It leads me to wonder if my mother was right all along and I should relocate to Alaska, where I can find some rugged, handsome man to keep my cabin heated, if you get my drift.

And hey, I bet I would be a real hit in the middle of Anchorage. There's probably not THAT much going on. Which also means it's going to be hard for me to find a place to get a gyro at 3AM on a Tuesday.

Not like that'll be my primary concern when I'm on my sixtieth day of complete darkness and I have my rugged boyfriend keeping me company.

And just like that, there's some hope in me after all.

Ugly Dudes

Ok, so I'm doing my regular Tuesday night ritual of watching The Real Housewives of New York and texting my friends snarky comments about the women that we don't like on the show (that would be you Kelly Bensimon - your owl jewelry is hideous!).

Then, my favorite, Bethany, announced her theory on dating ugly versus hot dudes, which is something that I have been pondering ever since my sister E suggested that I start dating uglier guys because there's less of a chance that they will be assholes in the long run.

E's Theory:

Ugly guys are so desperate and excited to get a girl that they will treat you well, instead of being players and assholes like the hot guys, who take getting a girl for granted. Yes, there is a chance of social awkwardness and nerdiness, but that's the trade-off in the long run for not having someone treat you like shit.

I have been rebuking her theory because, really, I just don't see the point of hitting on someone I find unattractive to begin with. That, and I'm scared of guys that live in their parents' basements with their giant collections of porn and Star Trek action figures.

Bethany's Theory:

Uglier guys are more problematic to date because they never get over their ugly duckling syndrome of not being able to get girls in high school, so years later their insecurities still surface. Therefore, even though they might be successful and good catches on paper, they have a high likelihood of having issues and cheating in an attempt to make up for all their personal self doubts.

The more attractive guys, on the other hand, are confident in themselves and when they finally commit to someone, they don't feel the need to stray. And all of those issues of feeling the need to prove oneself and be a cool player don't exist.

This is the first time I've ever heard this line of reasoning, especially since E has practically been beating me over the head to hit on the uglies at bars instead of, oh, the ones that I think are good looking.

Obviously, it's a very fine line to walk. Sometimes the uber-gorgeous guys tend to be the biggest players because they can get all the girls and they know it all too well.

But the more I think about it, the more it occurs to me that some of the biggest assholes I have ever known slash dated have been the ones that had issues of insecurity. Our problems always stemmed from the fact that they needed me to constantly reassure them, or that I felt they were trying to prove something to themselves, which I wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

The fact is I am an incredibly strong-willed and strong-minded girl and sometimes that comes off as arrogance or over-confidence. But that means that it takes a guy with a backbone to put me in my place when need be, and be totally secure on his own before he walks into a room with me.

Anyone that couldn't handle that is just going to look for validation elsewhere and that would inevitably lead to cheating, be it physically and/or emotionally. And needless to say, I'd never wish that on myself or someone that I'm dating.

So now, I am just validated in my conviction to continue to date attractive guys and snub the ugly dudes. And I have Bethany to back me up on that one. True fact.

Rebuke, E?

Decisions, Decisions...

This is going to come as a surprise to some, but I make shockingly good decisions. My problem isn't knowing what the best thing to do is; it's actually sticking to my guns when I decide something.

I tend to have these epitomes in a flash of genius, am proud for a few hours, and then promptly revert to being too lazy to go buy thank you notes so that I can actually send thank you notes, eating so much junk food that I feel sick, or kissing that guy because he has pretty eyes, etc, etc.

So I made a monumental decision recently to be honest to a fault, to not let anyone pull a fast one on me, to call people on their bullshit. And surprisingly that one has yet to fall by the wayside, though most people would claim my acts of honesty are really just because I'm innately mean.

I also recently decided to have a zero-tolerance policy for lying, and therefore to write off anyone that I didn't feel had my best interests at heart, and then stay as far away from those people as I could. That is the exact reason that I have repeatedly ignored Dry Cleaner Guy's attempts to get in touch with me.

But what has been hard about this one, is trying to call the moment that I am absolutely sure I am done with someone, and need to axe them from my life. It's not like a sitcom or a movie where there is blatant proof of lying and you're yelling at the protagonist to get out of the room. Unfortunately, most things in real life don't seem to be that clear cut.

Thanks to the wonder of modern technology and the Blackberry, though, I was fortunate enough to find out that someone I formerly trusted had blatantly lied to me in an outrageous manner.

And my first instinct was to blame myself, for not knowing any better than to believe him, and feeling stupid for having been that gullible.

I am fortunate enough, though, to have some absolutely fabulous friends who are wise beyond their years and I have summarized their collective wisdom in the advice they gave me:

Look you do the best with the information you’re given and that’s what you did. He lied to you and you can’t blame yourself for believing what he told you. There’s nothing you could have done to make him tell you the truth; some people just don’t know how or aren’t willing to do that. The worst thing you did was to take him at his word and that is nothing compared to the sins he committed against you.

At the end of the day, the only thing left to do is forgive myself and remain true to my decision to never speak to him again.

And buy thank you notes, because I think my friends deserve them, and really they would be quite handy to just have around for those thank-you-note-appropriate occasions that pop up out of nowhere.

So Awkward

The alternative title to this post was: Things Not To Say To a Girl You Are Trying To Impress. I thought that ran a little long, so this will have to do, but trust me the other title was certainly apropos.

I have this very cute single male friend P who for some reason has trouble getting girls. He's attractive, nice, gainfully employed, doesn't live with his parents, and is really very sweet. So really I had no idea why girls are allergic to him until last night when I decided to introduce him to my best gal pal R over a few pitchers of Sangria.

They seemed to be getting along, and I noticed some positive body language (turning towards each other, hand on the knee, holding hands) so I decided to leave them alone and do their thing.

At the end of the night they exchanged numbers and he insisted on walking her out to a cab, which meant they did a little kissing on the street. I was excited that they seemed to have hit it off and all was going well.

P confirmed this, by telling me that he really liked R and that he's going to call her next week to ask her out on a date. He asked me for advice on how long he should wait to call and where I thought she'd like to go out with him.

At this point, I was practically patting myself on the back for being two for two in setting my friends up.

That is, until R called to update me today.

Apparently the reason P has trouble with the ladies is he is majorly socially awkward. At some point she told him she was alternating between hot and cold in the bar and he said to her, "Why, do you have menopause? I lived at home with my mom when she had menopause, and I wouldn't recommend it. She had crazy mood swings and it was very difficult."

She was speechless, obviously.

It gets better.

After he put her in a cab, he literally texted her within the next five minutes and they proceeded to have the following conversation via text:

P: Hey, it was so great to meet you!

P: I had fun tonight. We have to do it again. Get home safe.

R: Yeah it was! Actually, I'm going to meet my roommate at a bar.

P: Oh, ok. Have fun!

Half an hour later:

P: Home or at the bar?

R: I just got home.

P: I'm home now too.

P: Lying in bed, but would rather be hanging out with you.

R: Why?

P: Because we were having fun and the kiss was nice.

P: Didn't you think so?

No response from R on this one...

P: Haha, have a good night. I'll speak to you soon.

P: We'll hang out when I get back to NY, but don't worry, I won't take you to that sushi place you hate.

Now, I think P is a great guy, but this definitely explains why he may be struggling in the female department. I thought most people knew that you don't really discuss menopause or text incessantly after meeting someone, but clearly P never got those important life lessons.

My new plan is to give him a list of things not to say or do to a girl that he can keep in his wallet and refer to whenever he speaks to someone of the opposite sex.

Because really, even after hearing the story and writing about it, I am still laughing over his text messages. He obviously means well, but has utterly no idea what he's doing.

Speechless, utterly speechles.